


A Face from the Past

by runawaygypsy



Category: Magnus Martinsson - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, wallander
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kitchen Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy





	A Face from the Past

The body was male, his head bloodied, bludgeoned to death by some blunt object, Magnus could plainly see. He flinched as he lifted the man's hand and the knife he'd clenched fell with a clatter to the floor. Obviously, he hadn't been dead long, rigor mortis hadn't set in, yet.

"Anything that might help identify the suspect?" Magnus asked the head of the forensic team. She shook her head and scowled. "Nothing here, yet," she answered. "Perhaps you should ask Kurt."

Magnus sighed and looked away. Kurt. Always Kurt. While he respected Kurt Wallander as a detective, despite his often unconventional methods, hell, he even thought of him as a mentor of sorts, Magnus did not particularly like the guy. He thought Kurt underestimated him, second-guessed him, and usually ended up assigning him to somewhat menial tasks, such as this one- overseeing the forensics, pestering them, asking questions. It all felt a bit demeaning. Without saying a word, he went off in search of Kurt.

When Magnus finally found the lead detective, Wallander was sitting calmly on a stoop outside a flat on one of the upper floors, his face solemn, eyes searching the face of a woman who was wrapped in a blanket and shivering. "How did it happen?" Kurt asked her. She could only sob, shaking even more, nothing that could be added to the investigation. She heard Magnus approach them before Kurt even did and her eyes shifted in his direction. Following her gaze, Wallander fixed his own steely-eyed look to Magnus. "Would you like to give her a go?" he asked.

"Witness or suspect?" he asked as Kurt stood to let him by. Wallander glanced at the girl then back to Magnus. "Martinssion," he said, his voice low and gruff, "She's traumatized and I've gotten nothing to go on. She could be either." He left as Magnus took his seat. As Magnus returned home, after questioning the girl into the wee hours of the night, he was weary, exhausted, and looked forward to curling up in bed and wrapping himself around his girlfriend, Louisa. Instead, as he opened the door to his flat, he noticed a dead silence. The air was stagnant and the rooms felt eerily empty. As he reached the dining nook, he saw the plate there, a steak dinner, cold and beyond consumption, next to it on one side, a flute of elderberry wine, his favorite, and, on the other side, as though set there as an after thought, a note with his name on it. He picked up the note and walked into the living room, taking a seat on his favorite easy chair, flipping the light on and flooding the room with illumination. The note sounded loud to him as he unfolded it. It was in Louisa's handwriting, her easily recognizable bubbly letters written with classroom precision, a carry-over from her job as a primary school teacher.

_Dear Magnus,_

_I'm sorry to tell you the news this way. I had hoped to see you tonight, prepared your favorite foods. Assuming you've been hung up on work tonight, this is the only way._

_I know you'd tell me I knew what I was getting into when we moved in together, and I did, to a point. I can understand the long nights of work, the toll the hours take on you, the nature of what you do, but I can't take the way you ignore me. A call on the late nights would have been nice, as would the feeling that you're with me when you are with me, not thinking of the case you're working on, but you're not. You never are._

_I've met someone else. He's kind, he treats me like a queen, he's available for me. So, I'm sorry, this is goodbye. I've packed my things and am moving back with my mother for the time being. Please don't follow me and make things any worse than they already are._

_~L._

 

He crumpled the note up and threw it viciously at the potted plant on the window sill opposite of him. Thinking back, he couldn't recall any time when she'd made any of her thoughts known, though, had he known, he wondered if he really could have changed his behavior. Her absence had been what made the flat so still. She was gone. He knew he should have felt some loss, but he didn't, realizing only then that they'd been growing apart for some time, that he didn't love her any more, other than with the fondness he might attribute to a sister. There was no anger harbored in his heart, rather the stillness of a resolved relief. 

Without bothering to dispose of the food, Magnus downed the warmed wine and dragged himself to bed.

 

**_Three Months Later_ **

His car was in the shop and the only way to the station was public transit. Though Magnus detested the transit system, he'd admitted it was better than walking the five miles in the biting cold. Had Wallander not been already out on investigation, Magnus thought he'd have bummed a ride. 

 

As he sat quietly on a bank of seats in the back of the bus, reading the morning news, a figure took the seat on the opposite side of him. He paid no mind, accustomed to the ins and outs of the transit. "Excuse me," the person said. His mind immediately registered it as female.

 

Magnus' eyes trailed from the newspaper in his hands across the dirty blue bus aisle, to the boot-clad feet of the woman before him. He smiled as he noticed her watching him, a sense of vague familiarity crossing his mind. He pushed it away, assuming that he'd met her once maybe, or even seen her on the street. "Yes?" he asked.

 

The woman smiled back. She had on a pair of dark denim jeans, her body covered mostly by the black puff of the parka she wore, her neck wrapped in a yellow knit scarf, the matching beanie hat perched precariously on the back of her head. "Are you Detective Martinsson?" she asked, her nearly violet eyes studying him.

 

"I am," he nodded. "Do I know you?" His mind was racing to place her somewhere in his personal timeline.

 

She held out one of her gloved hands, offering it to him. As he reached to grasp it with his own, she answered, "I'm Britta Svennig." When she saw his confusion, she added, "You questioned me in my father's death about three months ago. He was bludgeoned."

 

Immediately, he could see her face in his mind as she had been that night. The red blanket she'd been wrapped in obscured his vision of part of her face and her hair, which he could see now was a honey blond that hung to her shoulders in soft curls. "Britta," he repeated. "Britta Svennig." His eyes flicked down for a moment, then back up to hers. "Again, I'm so sorry about your father."

 

Britta nodded slightly, her happy smile downturning. "Thank you," she replied softly. "I'm glad they caught the guy who killed him."

 

Magnus could think of little else to say than, "Will you be a witness?" He nearly kicked himself at the question.

 

She shook her head. "He's plead guilty," she shrugged, "There will be no trial and I'd rather not go to the sentencing."

 

"Probably better that way," he smirked, looking past her out the bus window, leaving an awkward silence.

 

"Yeah," she agreed. "Better for everyone." She was sure he'd forgotten he was holding her hand and she shook it gently. "I just wanted to say thank you, anyway.":

 

His attention returned to her again and he raised his eyebrow. "Thank you?"

 

Britta nodded. "For the compassion you showed me that night. You understood what I was going through and were kind to me, unlike your partner."

 

Magnus was about to defend Wallander and his tactics when he saw the spark in her eyes. "You're welcome," he responded. Without a second thought, he offered, "Would you like to get dinner with me some evening?"

 

Her smile returned. "I'm free tonight," she answered, hoping she didn't sound too forward. The fact was, his kindness was only one of the things that had attracted her to him. She was distraught that night, sure, her world had crumbled and burned, but he was there to help her pick up the pieces and, rather than accusing her of anything and harassing her for an answer to which she didn't know, she found herself comforted by his presence. There was peace in his blue eyes, and determination, and the way he ran his fingers nervously through his blond curls as his stress began to build was immediately endearing. She pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her handbag and scribbled her cell phone number on it. "You could probably get this from the file, but here's my number," she said as she handed it over.

 

He grinned as he tucked it into the pocket of his parka. "Shall we say eight?" he asked.

 

The entire day at the station, Magnus was distracted. Unlike Kurt, he was not on a crime scene, his tasks relegated to the unofficial hacking he'd volunteered for once and been stuck with ever since, and answering the phone. The goddamn phone. For once, he wished the department would hire a secretary. His day dragged on with more paperwork, filing, general investigations on whatever Wallander called in from the scene for. It was all tedious.

 

By the time he was able to leave, it was near seven. He called Britta's number, only to get her voice mail. "I'm leaving work now," he told the automated assistant, "And, if it's alright with you, I'd love to cook for you." He left his address and crossed his fingers, hoping she would get the message.

 

Magnus was cleaned up and had the meal done, salmon steaks, herb-roasted potatoes and a green salad, by the time his doorbell buzzed. He answered the door and there she was. "Welcome to my humble abode," he smiled as he helped her with her parka. "I know it's not much..."

 

"Oh, no," she exclaimed, "It's lovely!"

 

Underneath her parka, she was dressed in a sky blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Magnus tried not to stare as she passed him, following the scent of the food into the kitchen. "This smells divine," she said, inhaling the smells. "Did you do this all yourself?"

 

He laughed and held up his hands as she turned to look at him. "Yep, all with my own two hands," he answered. "Please, have a seat," he invited as he pulled a chair out from the small dining table that was situated under the room's only window. He'd set it with a simple lace tablecloth that had been left to him by his grandmother, and two silver candlesticks bearing white candles, already lit and adding a glowing ambiance to the otherwise sparse room.

 

Britta sat and got comfortable as he plated their food and brought it over, returning to the cooking area once more for two glasses of White Zinfandel. "I'm out of Elderberry," he excused. She only nodded and smiled.

 

"That was absolutely wonderful," Britta smiled as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "You are one hell of a cook."

 

Magnus blushed. "Thank you." He stood and grabbed their empty plates, taking them to the sink to be rinsed.

 

As he sprayed them with hot water and placed them into the electric dishwasher, Britta stole up behind him, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him softly on the earlobe. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night," she whispered.

 

He stopped what he was doing and turned around, wet hands and all, his unblinking eyes staring at her for a moment. "You haven't?" He wasn't used to anyone telling him anything like that. He wanted to answer that he couldn't stop thinking about her, but he knew it would have been a lie. Instead, he asked," Why not?"

 

Britta was anything but coy. She stood against him, pushing his back to the sink, and kissed his lips, softly at first, adding pressure to it when she felt his resolve melt and his wet hands clasp the small of her back. "Because you are the nicest man I've ever met and sexy as hell," she whispered. She kissed him again, feeling his lips as they went from pliable to insistent, the heat of his breath against her mouth making her sigh.

 

"We shouldn't do this," he groaned as she let him go for a moment. "I'm sure there are protocols..." He wanted to protest, but he couldn't instead, his attributions to everything proper melted as he looked in her eyes. Magnus pulled her even tighter against his chest and turned around, lifting her up onto the counter next to the sink. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he kissed her, his lips moving along hers, then down her jawbone to the soft flesh of her neck. 

 

Britta let out little moans with each kiss, her mind willing him to take her. She gasped as he slid one hand up her thigh, hiking her dress up before grasping the elastic of her panties with one crooked finger. "Yes," she hissed softly in his ear.

 

"Are you sure you're alright with this?" he asked. When she nodded, he kissed her hard, his lips slamming into hers as he shifted the silk panties from her sex as best he could. The feeling of her skin, the dampness there, her excitement, made him instantly hard and his cock began straining painfully against the zipper of his trousers. He slid one lithe finger inside her wet heat and pumped it leisurely, a slow in and out- enough to make her sigh with the sensation. He pulled his other hand from around her and undid the fastenings on his trousers, letting his cock free. As Britta reached between them and began stroking him, he closed his eyes and leaned in, nibbling her collarbone, listening to her sighs increase in speed until they became pants. He could feel her fingers play softly along his shaft as her thumb gently ran along his slit, each of her movements exciting him further.

 

Britta arched her back, leaning her head on the upper cupboard doors as she felt his fingers explore her. They filled her, pressed against her sensitive spots, swirled  and repeated, each sensation increasing in intensity, shooting heat to her every extremity, until she whispered, "Oh, god..."

 

Magnus took her words as invitation and pulled his fingers from her, licking them to taste her as he pulled himself out of her grip. He moved the sodden silk of her panties even further out of the way and positioned himself at her entrance before slamming into her, filling her with him, and stopping to feel the way her walls relaxed around him. 

 

She hadn't had a moment to gauge his girth and she felt stretched to capacity as Magnus took her, but it wasn't painful, only a delicious sensation. As he began moving, circling his hips in small gyrations, she felt him hit her sensitive nerves, each motion shooting more sparks inside her. He thrust hard again and his pubic bone hit her clit, bringing her to the precipice of pleasure almost instantly. With each movement, her body responded in kind until she was pulled into a pit of orgasmic bliss, writhing and moaning against him, her hips bucking, her voice rough. "Fuck me, screamed Magnus!" she screamed as she seized with orgasm.

 

Her walls as she came squeezed around him, throttling him, making him harder than he thought he could ever be, and he could feel every muscle as it massaged him and coaxed him towards his own end. Magnus tried to stave it off, but, after the wave of her orgasm ebbed, he felt himself pulled into her, into the desire to push as deeply as he could. He rutted into her, thrusting through the urge until he felt his own blissful release, the rivulets of cum as they coated her walls and lubricated him for one final push. "Goddamn," he growled. He pulled himself from her as he began to soften, tucked himself back in and secured his trousers as he kissed her. "That was unexpected, but wonderful," he smiled.

 

Britta smiled back as she hopped from the counter. "Maybe unexpected for you," she grinned mischievously. Then, without missing a beat, she asked, "Are you ready for dessert?"

 

 


End file.
